


Gold in the Gutter

by MatleenaMaddie, SilverWing15



Series: What Is Precious [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Gen, How Do I Tag, I'm gonna tag that until its an official tag, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Technoblade does die, Vampires, dream is a bastard, just this once, rip Techno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatleenaMaddie/pseuds/MatleenaMaddie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWing15/pseuds/SilverWing15
Summary: The nobleman rides up one evening, on a horse as black as coal, its eyes rolling with terror, stamping under its rider. Sides heaving like its run a great distance even though they approached at a walk.“Good evening,” the nobleman says, apparently not noticing the stress of his mount, “I’m afraid that the night has quite crept up on me, might I have a place to stay for the night?”Prequel to: Ruby In the Moonlight (and contains spoilers for that, so maybe read it first)
Series: What Is Precious [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138133
Comments: 11
Kudos: 275
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	Gold in the Gutter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello hello! I return to you again. This time with Power!! :D  
> We got it back at like 6PM last night after it'd been out since 2AM monday morning (with one quick little stretch where we had power from 11pm-6am on tuesday) but now I am Returned and I give you the first of the prequels that I have pre-written! 
> 
> Enjoy!

He is a pig farmer, his father was a pig farmer, his grandfather was a pig farmer. He is no one special. He will live his life, and farm, and drive to town and sell and buy, and drive home and farm, and one day he will have his own son, who will grow up and take over the farm while he sits in the big chair at the house and waits for death to come for him. 

Its a simple life, but its a good one. The work is steady but hard enough to challenge him, he is well fed and strong. He’s maybe not happy, but he is content, and that’s rare enough in the world that he’s not going to give it up to chase happiness. 

He is a pig farmer, and he intends to live his life as one. Even if sometimes he looks around the city and wonders if there is something out there that is more. Something for him beyond living the same life as his forefathers. 

But he is content, and happiness and adventure don’t go hand in hand, so he farms, and he drives to market, and he barters with his neighbors, and he goes home and he farms. The world is a dangerous place, and he is happy to have carved out a mostly safe space in it. 

Other people might fling themselves headlong into the Great War, but Techno sits on the sidelines, and he farms. Potatoes and pigs. Its a simple life, but its a good one, he has no real desire to change it. 

The nobleman rides up one evening, on a horse as black as coal, its eyes rolling with terror, stamping under its rider. Sides heaving like its run a great distance even though they approached at a walk. 

“Good evening,” the nobleman says, apparently not noticing the stress of his mount, “I’m afraid that the night has quite crept up on me, might I have a place to stay for the night?” 

Techno knows just as well as the nobleman does he will say yes. You don’t leave someone out in the dark in these times. But you also don’t let them in unchallenged. 

“I have room and food for you,” he says, “but first let me see your eyes.” 

“Of course,” The nobleman says, pulling the hood off of his head. He’s one of those fancy types, with the sandy blond hair and skin pale from lack of sun. Never worked a day in his life, but his eyes are green. 

Techno nods once, sharply. “There will be room for your horse in the stables,” he says, “you can leave in the morning.” 

“Thank you, stranger,” the nobleman says, turning his horse to the paddock. “Your kindness will be repaid.” 

Techno puts up his tools and meets the nobleman at the door of his hut. His father died a few seasons ago, and he hasn’t had the desire to find a wife, the chair by the fire is empty. The nobleman sits in it and sighs. 

“Dark times ahead,” he says. 

“Oh?” 

Techno stirs the pot on the fire, ladling out two bowls. It will probably offend the nobleman’s pallete but he didn’t come here for the food, he came for safety in numbers. 

The nobleman hums, “there was a battle a few days ago, I suppose the news hasn’t made its way down here yet.” 

“Who won this time?” 

“The Demon.” 

Techno frowns, the village has been under the Spirit’s protection for a century, but if they were lost in that battle, he’ll have to deal with more undead popping up. He remembers the old ways, the charms and wards to keep them out, but he’s never had to use them. 

“I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.” 

The nobleman hums, looking into the flames. “They say there’s a vampire in charge of the keep now, you heard anything about that?” 

“No,” Techno replies, a pang of fear in his heart. If a vampire has taken the keep, there will be tribute demanded from their village. Perhaps it is a good thing that he has no wife, no children. “Don’t get much news out here.” 

“I imagine not,” the nobleman says. 

Techno wonders if he was the one booted out of the keep, but probably not. The vampire would have killed him if he were. Everyone knows that they’re territorial. 

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” the nobleman says, “usually peasants are clambering over themselves to speak to a nobleman.” 

“I’m a pig farmer,” Techno says with a shrug, “I do my job and I shut my gob and I live my life. My father did the same, If I have a son, so will he.” 

The nobleman laughs, a disbelieving sort of sound, “and you’re fine with that? Living your days in the mud, aspiring to nothing greater?” 

Techno shrugs again, “I can aspire to many things, but at the end of the day, I will have my pigs to look after. Dreams will not keep me fed.” 

“Dreams are odd things,” the nobleman says, “sometimes they come when you least expect them.” 

“They’re welcome to come,” Techno says, “but unless they keep me warm at night and fed in the morning, they can continue on their way.” 

The nobleman laughs again, a condescending sort of laugh. “I like you,” he says, “so placid. A true example of humanity: barely better than the livestock you keep.” 

Techno sets his bowl down, “excuse me?” 

The nobleman laughs, “excuse me,” he mimics, “so wrapped up in you manners and your _shit_ ,” he sneers the last word, and Techno realizes that his teeth are longer than they should be. “So utterly, _pathetically, human_.” 

The nobleman stands, toppling the chair with an easy flick of his wrist, the table between them is tossed away with equal ease, bowls clattering to the ground. Techno sits frozen, staring up at the gleaming crimson eyes.

“You’re just so _stupid_ ,” the nobleman, the _vampire_ says, stalking across the too-small hut. 

Techno scrambles to his feet, but with one backhand, the vampire has him on the ground. He gasps, his ears ring, the world spins around him, he tries to get to his feet. 

“You spend your life grubbing in the dirt,” the vampire sneers, “so ignorant to those above you, to those better than you. You could _never_ do what I’ve done, never be what I’ve become.” 

A cold hand grabs his hair, dragging him up, dragging his head back, “you wouldn’t last a _day_ ,” the vampire hisses, too close. He can feel its breath on his throat. He tries to pry the hand away but it may as well be made of stone. 

The vampire chuckles, “so helpless,” it says, “one little tap and you’re too weak to even save your own life. I’m going to kill you, little farmer. But you’re not going to stay dead. You’re going to wake up tomorrow night, when the moon is full, and you’re going to rip through this entire little village, and all its little people. And they’ll all be just as helpless as you are now.” 

“No,” Techno gasps, “please.” 

“Oh, please don’t, please,” the vampire mocks, “don’t you see? I’m giving you a gift, I’m making you _more_.” 

Fangs sink into his throat, a brilliant burst of pain and fear. His heart races, unaware that it is only killing him faster. He claws at the vampire, but it hardly seems to notice, he kicks, struggles, thrashes. But it is meaningless. The vampire laughs against his throat, he can feel it vibrating across his skin. 

He has slaughtered his fair share of pigs in his day, is this how they felt? Confronted by something so far beyond themselves, something that made them utterly helpless before it, left to its mercy. But there is no mercy to be found in the blade of an axe or the fangs of a vampire. 

Slowly, inevitably, his legs are too heavy to kick, his hands too far away to lift. All he can do is breathe as the life is slowly drained out of him. He’s cold. The fire is close by, but he can’t feel its warmth. He can’t feel anything. 

Something cold presses against his lips. “Drink,” a voice says, and he cannot disobey it. 

*** 

He is starving. A yawning chasm has opened up inside him and he has to fill it, has to quench this terrible thirst. He bursts out of the hut and into the light of the full moon. The pigs scatter away from him and he lunges after them wildly. They are running, they are prey. They fall before his claws, his fangs, but they don’t satisfy him. 

He needs more. 

He knows the way to the village, knows the people who live there. Hearts beating, pumping precious, precious blood through them. He runs, faster, longer, urged on by the unquenchable thirst. 

The first house appears and he tears his way into it, screams, fear, sorrow, pain. They are meaningless in the face of the blood. He drains them dry and goes to the next house. 

It was never a large village, only fifty or so people. 

He kills them all, and finally, finally he is satisfied. The feral bloodlust drains away and he is standing in an empty house, moonlight and blood pooling around him. What has he done? _What has he done?_

What has he become? 

_A monster._

*** 

He is too much of a coward to kill himself, even though he longs to. He can’t make himself walk into the sun, his instincts won’t allow it. Even though he _should_ do it. To save others. 

He hides in a cave by day, he doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t need to sleep anymore. He is dead, but he has found no rest, and he will find no rest until he turns to dust. He cradles his head in his hands and begs for some god to save him. But he has been forsaken by the gods, he can only turn to The Demon now, and he will find no more mercy there than he did under the vampire’s fangs. 

No more mercy than he granted any of his neighbors. 

He cowers in a cave during the day, and during the night he stalks the roads, searching for something. He doesn’t know what, death? A purpose? Or merely more prey? 

He only finds the latter. 

*** 

Days slip by, into weeks, into months. He finds humans, and his instincts overcome him, they tear at his mind until he tears at throats, leaving humans dead in the moonlight. A truer death than he himself was granted. 

He resents them, in a way, for their easy deaths, they have simply ended,while he is forced to go on. Then the guilt overcomes him, for he is the reason that they ended. 

Months blend into years, and he meets other vampires. They scorn him, a fledgling, abandoned by his sire. He is the bastard of the vampire world. He has no sire, no coven, no power. Some try to claim him for their own, but he sees the way they act, killing humans with no remorse, enslaving the ones they don’t kill. 

He doesn’t know how they have forgotten where they came from. What they once were. Perhaps that is the only way to survive _being_ a vampire, to forget your humanity. To embrace that desperate superiority, to hold yourself above, so you don’t have to hold yourself responsible. 

Techno grits his teeth and resolves to be better. He will not be a mindless murderer, or a laughing butcher, not like the rest of them. He will be better. He is not less, he will be _more_. 

He is used to difficult, methodical work, and so he turns his mind to this new task with grim determination. He kills again and again, drains humans dry until he learns to pull back. To leave them with enough blood to live, to recover. 

Bit by bloody bit, he masters his instincts, he masters himself until he can walk through a village in the dead of night and leave without touching a soul. He pushes his control further and further, until he can be on the edge of starving and not touch a hair on a human’s head. 

Decades go by, and the war goes on, and Techno learns. 

He comes across a fledgling slaughtering her way through a village, the scent of blood heavy on the air, the sound of screams deafening. He kills the fledgling and burns her corpse. She at least, will be at rest. He burns the dead as well, and heals the living, even as the shrink away from his crimson eyes. 

He leaves the village, not a hero, but a whisper. 


End file.
